


Hell's Kitchen

by TrueMyth



Category: Veronica Mars (TV), Veronica Mars - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Post-Season/Series 02, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-31
Updated: 2015-07-31
Packaged: 2018-04-12 04:45:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4465910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrueMyth/pseuds/TrueMyth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It can be difficult finding "alone time."  Veronica can’t get no satisfaction. And she tries, and she tries, and she tries. Logan makes a killer barbeque sauce.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hell's Kitchen

**Author's Note:**

  * For [disdainfullady](https://archiveofourown.org/users/disdainfullady/gifts).



> Written for the loveathons Heat Wave Challenge. I have a lot of people to thank for their help with this fic. I bounced ideas off of strippedpink, ladydisdain225, txtequilanights, sarah_p, and queen_haq. I have a little shout-out in here to kantayra, because it just worked so well. And finally, thanks to superlative sarah_p and magnificent mutinousmuse for doing an awesome job running this through a beta.
> 
> Reposted to AO3 today, because it is disdainfullady's birthday, and she deserves all the fluffy things.

“I can’t believe you’re barbequing in this weather.”

Veronica gaped at Logan from the shaded interior of the house as he twirled to face her, presenting his bare back to the crackling flame of the Weber grill. Behind him, just past the patio, the long expanse of hot sand seemed to be glittering with bright malice, distorting the air above it into flowing waves and nearly disguising the deep turquoise of the water beyond. Logan crossed his arms over his ‘ _Hell’s Kitchen_ ’ apron and leaned a hip against a side table as he grinned at her.

“Veronica, you know there’s no way to control appetite. When the mood for Echolls’ famous baby-back ribs strikes…” And here one hand became a fist plunging an imaginary spear through his heart before it dissolved into a cascade of dancing fingers in front of him. “Well, what _is_ a red-blooded American male to _do_?”

Veronica swallowed hard as she watched the muscles of his forearm play under the golden sheen of his perspiring skin and tried not to howl with frustration at the vagaries of the male animal. She settled for the sharp release of pent-up air, satisfied by the way it caused her bangs to scatter across her forehead, and a firm, “You’re crazy,” in the direction of the half-naked man on the back porch before she returned to the conditioned air of the beach house.

Hell, thy name is trying to find the perfect time and place to have sex with your ex-friend, ex-enemy, ex-secret lover, ex-boyfriend, boyfriend, when the universe seems to be dead-set against him even seeing you with your shirt off.

At first, Veronica admitted, she had been the main reason for the delay. As she crossed the spacious living room of Trina Echolls’ new Neptune beach house, she fought against the memories of the heated embraces she and Logan shared in the back of the XTerra in early June. With each piece of clothing that dropped to the floor or was tossed over her head, a darker tension had begun to pool in her stomach, competing with the warm and breathless wanting Logan’s dark gaze always inspired. His lips, plucking and sucking at her collar bone, made her wrap her legs around him like a vise, but the brush of his fingers on the naked skin of her belly turned tense thighs into frozen pillars, and set her heart racing with fear where before, there had only been desire.

It wasn’t fucking fair to either of them. She’d _tried_ to avoid it, but she always invariably ended up pushing him off of her, or pushing off of _him_ , or, one night, pushing away from the swing set in the middle of the county park… and maybe that time had been a good time to say ‘no’ after all.

Veronica reached the kitchenette, took one look at the largest assortment of spice bottles, open cans, and fresh vegetables she’d ever seen, and spun back around, retracing her steps to the sliding glass door that lead to the patio.

She’d gotten over her issues. It had helped when she finally started talking to him, and really… Logan wasn’t Beaver, wasn’t Duncan, wasn’t anyone else, and he knew what he was doing better than most. He could take things slowly – oh man, could he do slowly – so slow that they’d both practically screamed with relief when he finally pulled her shorts off over her hips and down her legs, his clever fingers falling to touch the damp front of the tiny black g-string she’d worn just for him.

And then Dad had come home early to find them on the couch, and, yeah, it was obvious that the universe pretty much had it out for them.

‘The TALK’ had been awkward, to say the least. Her father had already told her about the birds and the bees, of course. Hell, they’d already talked about _Logan_ and sex before, rather candidly. But there was probably a stark difference between the abstract concept and walking in to see your daughter’s naked legs wrapped around the nude torso of her boyfriend on the same couch where you’d taught her to play poker. She’d avoided being alone with Logan for over a week after that incident.

Veronica reached the patio door again and let her forehead fall against the cool glass as she watched Logan flip his carefully prepared meat over the flames of the grill. The lines of his back curled and slid against each other as he moved, and she decided that no one could really blame her for setting out to seduce him last week. She’d raided her father’s emergency supplies and spent a fair chunk of her _Java the Hut_ bank roll – thank God for full college scholarships – and filled his bedroom at the Neptune Grand with candles, beautiful candles, of all shapes and colors. Their combined scent had turned the room into a spiced garden of bright light. She had slipped into a white nightgown made of silk and lace and greeted him from the bed with a glorious smile.

Logan had fallen on her with a speed that made her female pride purr like a kitten, and she’d tugged happily at his pesky clothing while one of his hands slid up her thigh and the other groped blindly at the bedside table until it found the handle to the drawer and the condoms within, and – _finally_ – they were finally going to have that perfect moment.

And then the fire alarm went off.

And the safety sprinklers turned on.

And Veronica had begun to consider that she didn’t care for the universe very much, either.

Veronica moved away from the door as soon as Logan began to flip the meat off the grill and onto the serving platter. She tried not to remember the musty smell of the sodden bed linen. She tried to forget the way her hair had plastered to her head and her carefully applied make-up had run down her face. Mostly, she tried not to think about the way Logan had held a pillow in his lap when the firemen and concierge had rushed into the suite to save the day.

Except for how she _always_ thought about it. Thought about the moments just before the siren had sounded as she lay in bed at night. Thought about his mouth against her skin as the August heat kicked in and she slept with few clothes and fewer sheets, wondering if he did the same. Thought about all of the time they wasted, and all the time that was still slipping by, as her fingers followed the paths they remembered from him, up her legs, down her abs, brushing, pushing, circling until she moaned and called out his name so loudly that she couldn’t meet her father’s eyes over the breakfast table in the morning.

So now, here they were: Logan was house-sitting for Trina, and Veronica was trying to outthink the entire universe.

The sliding door slid shut with a sticky bang and a puff of humid sea breeze as Logan padded past her to the table. Veronica noticed that his shorts were riding low enough that she could make out the curve of his hip bone and see the two sweet dimples at the base of his spine.

“Once you have some of this, you’ll never go back.”

“Wh-what?” Veronica sputtered.

Logan spun around from the table and held up a finger, dipped in shiny barbeque sauce. His tongue darted out to taste the tip of his finger and he closed his eyes in feigned bliss. At least, she was pretty sure he was pretending…

“I think I have to investigate this,” she observed.

Veronica waited for his eyes to open before she made her move. She stalked towards him and smiled at the way his eyes lit up as they watched the sway of her approaching hips. When she was less than a foot away, she reached for his hand and opened her mouth. She pulled his entire finger into her mouth before closing her lips around it and sucking hard. Logan groaned, and she might have just smiled more if the taste of the sauce hadn’t hit her then. The flavor exploded across her tongue, sweet, salty, spices dancing on her taste buds, followed by a rich and savory aftertaste. Her knees almost buckled and Logan pulled her tightly against him as she continued to suck and lick his finger. He lowered his head to kiss her cheek, neck, shoulder, the beginning swell of one breast. His free hand slipped under the strap of her tank-top.

She had only a moment’s warning from a distinctly artificial vibration in her pants before the trill of her cell phone cut though the heated air between them.

“Fuck,” she said as she fumbled for the phone.

“Nonononononono,” Logan mumbled against her solar plexus. “You don’t have to –”

“Yes, I do.”

“Voicemail is your fri–”

“No, it’s not.”

“It’s a telemarketer.”

“It’s Wallace.”

“Fuck.” Logan released her as she punched the answer key.

Veronica watched Logan set out the salad and dinner rolls while Wallace babbled in her ear. She _tried_ to pay attention, but Logan had untied the apron from his neck and begun to serve himself. His fingers accidentally trailed through a bit of extra barbeque sauce and his eyes rose to meet hers. He smirked when he found her watching, and he slowly raised his thumb to his open mouth and –.

Veronica blinked.

“You forgot _what_ in my car?”

“Come on, Veronica, you know I never play a game without my lucky charm,” Wallace cajoled. “It must have fallen out last night. Can I come over and pick it up?”

Veronica closed her eyes to Logan’s intense gaze and modulated the frustration in her tone.

“Yes, you can pick it up. But tomorrow, not tonight. Logan just made dinner, and –”

“Ah, I get it, a little _alone_ time, right? I totally get it. You get your game on, sister. ‘Sides, you probably need the charm more than I do.”

“You are _so_ lucky I still need you to hook me up with all the cool B-ball people at Hearst next year, or you would be _dead_ to me.”

“Please, girl, like you could do without my ready wit and worldly experience.”

“Good _night_ , Wallace.”

Veronica turned off her cell after a brief consideration and took her seat across from Logan with a modest smile.

“More sauce? I made plenty.” Logan held the bowl out with an enquiring lift of one eyebrow.

Veronica looked at the warm bowl of sauce she’d recently been sucking off his finger and felt a faint heat begin to climb in her cheeks. If Wallace hadn’t called, they might have ended up doing God-only-knows-what on top of the kitchen table. This was getting ridiculous. She needed to address this issue soon, or they’d end up with Lamb arresting them for indecent exposure on the main drag of Neptune. And, in an odd way, the most embarrassing part of that scenario was that she probably wouldn’t be all that embarrassed by it. It actually turned her on a little to imagine Logan pressing her naked back against the display windows of _Le Chic_ while he…

“No thank you,” Veronica muttered to the napkin in her lap.

They made limited small talk for most of the meal. Veronica could feel Logan watching her, with questions, with desire, and with – God, she was dating an asshole – humor, as she tried to keep things on a polite level of social intercourse – er, discourse. He seemed to have calmed down by the end of the meal, and they quietly set about clearing the table and cleaning the kitchen.

Logan hadn’t been kidding when he’d said he’d made plenty of his delicious barbeque sauce. At least two liters sat in a bowl in the fridge, and Veronica couldn’t help but smirk at him.

“Hey, that stuff takes a _lot of work_. You have to make it last.”

Veronica simply chuckled as she moved past him to find a more permanent container for his sauce. At the same time, he reached out to claim the bowl from her, his hands landing on hers, sending a spark of energy up her arm so powerful that she gasped and dropped the clear plastic bowl. Their feet and a wide expanse of the floor were covered in dark red sauce, and Veronica and Logan gaped at each other.

And then they started laughing.

And they each grabbed a dish towel from the oven door and dropped to their knees.

And Veronica slipped in the thick liquid and tumbled into Logan’s naked arms.

And maybe the universe loved them just a little bit, after all.

“Look at the mess you’ve landed us in now, Veronica.” Logan chuckled as his arms encircled her.

“Me?” Veronica tempered the indignation in her tone by awarding a kiss to his cheek. “You’re the guy who whipped up this traitorous goo.” She dipped her hand into the puddle near his head and held it up as an example. “Who do you think you are? Emeril? Oh, wait, don’t tell me…” She smirked as she answered her own question, “You’re the Naked Chef, aren’t you?”

“You know? I was really disappointed the first time I tuned into that show.”

Veronica mirrored Logan’s serious smile with one of her own before she leaned down to taste it. She felt his wet hands moving up her back, under her shirt but she didn’t care. The release when the catch of her bra went made her moan, but she pulled back again.

Logan sighed with resignation and closed his eyes.

“What now?”

“Humor me,” Veronica demanded as she placed a sauce slick hand on his chest and began to smear. “Are you _sure_ Trina isn’t coming home?”

Logan cracked one eye open. “Yeah. She’s in New York.”

“No pesky neighbors are going to turn up asking for a cup of sugar?”

Logan’s lips twitched at the corners. “The Echolls attack alpacas are a fierce deterrent.”

“No friends stopping by? Dick, Enbom, Connor?”

“The only dick coming out to play is –”

Veronica silenced him with a finger across his lip, which was promptly caressed with a swipe of his tongue.

“You’re dirty,” Logan complained.

“Yes,” Veronica agreed and sat up, straddling his middle as she pulled her white tank and bra over her head. She looked down at the job she had made of his chest with a wicked smile. “And I’m not the only one.”

She bent her head and began to lick, with long, slow laves, around the area of his left nipple. After four passes, she could no longer taste the sauce. Nothing but the clean taste of Logan met her lips and she sighed with contentment. Logan growled and rolled her onto the sticky floor as he began his own enquiry.

“You’re alright with this?” He reached his hand down the front of her shorts and cupped, exerting the most pressure with his middle fingers until she squirmed.

“Yes,” Veronica gasped.

“You’re on the pill, everything’s okay?” He tugged the soggy shorts over her hips and grinned at the gasp as her ass touched the wet floor. He leaned over and licked a line of sauce across her breast.

“God yes, it’s okay.” Veronica tried to direct his head to her other nipple, but he resisted and moved to kiss her mouth again. He tasted of meat and sweetness and Logan and Veronica pushed at the loose elastic of his shorts until they slid down his legs.

“Veronica,” he waited until he had her attention. “I wanted this to be perfect, and it’s –”

“Don’t you dare apologize, jackass.”

Veronica caught sight of his smile a second before it disappeared against her neck. Her legs wrapped around his thighs as he knelt between them. She dug her nails into his shoulders as he pressed inside her. He returned the pain with small nips along the curve of her neck until he was completely settled.

They paused for a moment then. And, though Veronica would never have admitted it out loud, not even to Logan, they might have been waiting for the world to end, just a little. Because this was it. It wasn’t perfect, it was hot and sticky and smelled like spicy meat. It wasn’t in some flowery boudoir or hot tub or tropical grotto. They were on the kitchen floor of someone else’s house in the middle of a colossal mess. But maybe it didn’t matter after all. Maybe ‘perfect’ needed a new definition. As they began to move and Logan’s mouth found hers again, Veronica was actually considering writing a letter to Webster Publishing. And then she stopped thinking at all.


End file.
